Mask
by Aslinn Kerridwen
Summary: This is a strange piece, I know, it just sort of happened. A couple of thoughts on being a shinobi. A comeback. Kakshi in all his complex, depressed glory please R&R!
1. the lion

I am a shinobi, yes. What is more, I am a chuunin. Yet I do not give my whole heart and soul into it. My service to Konocha is in something else all together, for you see, I am also an artist.

You may wonder why Konoha may need an artist. Well it doesn't. Not really. But Konoha needs masks. And these I provide. I make them, the ANBU masks, the hunter-nin masks, I have made them all, and no two are the same.

I remember every mask I had ever made. I remember exactly the way my fingers molded it into the perfect shape. I remember exactly each and every design I put on the pure white of the mask. Some bold, some fleeting, some regular, others asymmetrical. Words, words, words. Words cannot depict the way that fresh paint, red usually, though there were exceptions, looked on those brilliantly white masks.

I remember every mask I had ever made. Not only that, but I know who wears them. No they don't tell me but I am usually there when they receive them. They don't usually even know that it is I who made them. I always watch closely when they put those masks on. They usually do it so carefully, this one time.

I try not to think of those masks in use, smeared with mud, speckled with blood. Chipping, even braking. When a Hunter or ANBU dies on mission they have their name carved onto the monument, but their masks, cracked, chipped, broken in two, are brought to me. Covered in blood, and mud, and vomit. They never clean them. After all, a mask, like a headband, is a personal thing. Only the owner may clean it. And I. I may clean them. So each time they bring them to me I do, and after I finish cleaning them I hide them away. I can not throw them away, so I hide them, for their owners are no longer alive and the masks themselves are dead. I keep them all stacked away in a large wardrobe in the furthest corner of my studio, and in a large wooden trunk that stands by it. The wardrobe is full by now, all of them hanging from little hooks, or resting on the single shelf inside. There is still room in the trunk, but it has been getting full lately.

I try not think of those masks in use, dirty and broken, because then I might get strange ideas, I might put less effort into them next time, I might not try as hard to make them perfect. And they have to be perfect.

The hunters, the ANBU, they have no individuality, they are not allowed to. So they throw away their individuality and in return I give them porcelain masks. That is why the masks have to be perfect. The masks are their only individuality, so I might just as well make them as beautiful as I can.

I remember every mask I had ever made. No two were ever the same. Except two. I think that the Kyuubi boy will become an ANBU one day, on his way to becoming Hokage. I have already made a mask for him. And it is a mask identical to one other I made. A mask just like the Yondaime's. A lion.

* * *

1) I know it's wierd. I really hoped you liked it..

2) Yes, a lion. Gomen. But he feels like it

3) So does anyone know, are those masks made of porcelain, that was my guess, considering how easily they broke but I don't know really.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The world of Naruto belongs to, and is copiright of, Masashi Kishimoto, author of the manga Naruto. 


	2. the raven

The morning Neji was to get his ANBU mask was a beautiful one. The sun was rising in brilliant reddish tones, and a low fog hung just above the ground and reached up not higher than his knees as he hurried through the narrow streets of Konohagure. From a distance he looked as if he was running through clouds.

He did not have his father to walk him there, to the ceremony, but Neji knew that he would have been really proud if he were alive. His uncle had suggested he would go with him, but Neji said he wanted to go alone. And he would have gone alone, until someone else asked to accompany him. After all, not many people knew how to say 'no' to the man.

"Neji, I know you'd rather go on your own" Iruka said as he joined Neji that misty morning.

"No, not really…I just…"

"It's okay, I don't want to bother you, I just wanted to show you something before you go. We don't have much time, but we should make it." Iruka said, and started walking faster. Neji followed him, the usual bored smirk fixed on his face, but inside he was curious. They passed through the narrow streets quickly, and finally reached an old house with a low, flat roof. It looked more like a warehouse than a place to live in. Iruka knocked on the door, waited for an answer for a brief moment and then pushed the door open.

"Come, I want to show you something!" he said again as he stepped through the low door.

Neji followed him rather doubtfully, and looked around. The room was very large and rather dark, apart from the door they came in through there was another one, on the other side, probably leading into the rest of the house. There were no windows except for one, and that one seemed to be too large and to high up. The room looked more like a garage to which someone later added a single window. The room was filled with lots of strange things: dried flowers, figures made of clay or porcelain, little Buddhist idols, old photographs, empty wine bottles, candles, feathers, two identical, very old looking katanas, tin tea boxes, a broken nija-to, porcelain dolls with large painted eyes and brilliant black hair, empty bird cages, brass candle holders, fans, both large and small, colorful paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling and from one of the shelves, colorful pieces of silk, an old samurai helmet, an ivory elephant, strings of colorful beads that hung from the shelves and lay scattered on the ground beside a heavy lidded trunk on the ground, strange musical instruments lined up on the shelves on the walls, little ships made out of tree bark, a pair of long, black, satin gloves, the list seemed endless. In one of the corners of the room was a large sink and near it stood two large desks lighted by three tall lamps. On one of the desks stood two clay figures, a man's face and a woman's face, both of them life sized. Beside them stood bowls one filled with some partly liquid mass, a huge lump of clay and a large board with paint on it. In little jars and cups stood lots of brushes, some with tips so thin you could barely see them, others large and thick. The whole room smelled of paint, wax, dust and something else than Neji couldn't quite define.

Iruka waited a moment as the boy beside him looked around the strange room taking in all the details. Then he walked towards a huge wardrobe that stood in the farthest corner of the room.

"Look" he said quietly as he pulled open the double doors. Neji held his breath in shock as the wardrobe doors creaked opened. Inside hanging of little hooks and resting on shelves were masks. ANBU and Hunter-nin masks. All of them seemed to have been broken or cracked in places, but someone had stuck them back together carefully, so only a few were chipped, the rest just held traces of the places they had been broken in. Neji stared with huge white eyes at all of them, the smirk washed of his face as if it had never been there. There was a fox, and a cat, and a lion, and a monkey, and a dog, a ferret, a weasel, and two hawks but with very different designs, and there were some masks that did not imitate any animal, and some of which the paint had cracked off, and some which he wasn't quite sure what animal they were supposed to represent, most of them were white with red markings, though some had yellow or green, he even saw one that was all black with white markings on it, a panther, and it had one of its sides completely smashed. There were lots of them; in fact the wardrobe was completely filled.

Neji looked at Iruka bewildered, but the man did not catch his gaze at first.

"That one was…my mothers…" he finally said as he pointed at the seal mask that was missing the jaw part. Neji didn't reply, he just stared at all of them, there were so many. "There are more," Iruka said, "in the trunk…"

They stood in silence, both of them, in a kind of reverence to the fallen. The stillness of the dusty room was broken by the sound of footfalls coming from somewhere inside the house. Iruka turned around and then glanced at a clock that hung on the wall.

"We'd better get going," Iruka muttered and Neji nodded his head. "It would be better," the chuunin continued, "if you didn't talk of this place, the village has its reasons for not having too many know who makes the masks…I got permission to show you this…but…you understand…"

Neji nodded. They stepped out of the dark room. Back in the fresh air they blinked like owls in the sudden light. They were about to head towards the Hokage's office when Iruka stopped.

"Neji, I didn't want to disencourage you. I hope I didn't. Just… be careful…"

The boy nodded and started walking. Iruka watched the retreating back of the first of his students to join the ANBU walk off to the ceremony, and hoped that the almost-full trunk that stood beside the wardrobe in the studio would not be filling up with another piece of cracked porcelain any time soon.

* * *

1) I hoped both Iruka and Neji remained in character. I tried making Neji cold, but not compleatly insensitive and unthinking. Iruka was supposed to come out caring, but not overly so.

2) I'm still debating whether to introduce the "artist" or not.

3) Next chapter Tenten coming up.

Well I hope you liked this...so if you did or you didn't please, please leave a comment!

* * *

DISCLAIMER: Iruka, Neji, and the world they live in belong to, and arecopiright of, Masashi Kishimoto, author of the manga Naruto. 


	3. the owl

_I think this series is coming out quite nicely. This one is indirectly about Tenten. As I am enjoying writing these very much I will probably be posting another one very soon (it's almost done). (Is anyone reading this stuff anyway...? Well, for any that are, enjoy!)

* * *

_

Tonight I was working. Tonight would be a sleepless night. It was always sleepless nights when I got started, and not only on the mask, whenever I painted, or carved or anything of the kind, I did it in the evenings and during the nights. Somehow only then I feel the paint alive, only then the clay shapes itself under my fingers and only then the porcelain masks come out…individual. Otherwise they would be the product of routine.

That is why, I know that today, and perhaps tomorrow would be a sleepless night.

I had watched her for two days, and I talked to her sensei, and to a couple of other people who knew her. I always did that, after all I needed to know who I was making the mask for, and the best way was to hear what they said about her.

"_She's strong you know? Cold and strong, but elegant. I don't know…why do you ask anyway?"_

"_What that tomboy? What about her?"_

"_She works well in a team. She wears a mask of toughness, but only half-heartedly. Everyone knows she cares for her team. And honestly, that does speak well of her doesn't it? Considering who her team were, all those years. No, no, I'm not saying there is something wrong, but it was a strange combination for sure, that Hyuuga, and the Lee guy…well it didn't seem like a good team at first. Anyway I hear that the Lee guy's gotten incredible, they say that Gai is having trouble beating him at Taijutsu, I wouldn't have thought that possible, of course Gai isn't limited only to taijutsu. Well anyway, I heard that…"_

That's some of the stuff they said…Cold and strong huh? Caring? Yes there was something warm in her eyes, and her laughter was almost innocent that night I saw her dining with her team. That is mostly what I learned out of talk. Then my shinobi skills came in hand. I spied. I always did when I go a commission. I don't know if you could indeed call her a tomboy, but it was true she wasn't as womanly as most Kunochi her age. Not that she was ugly, definitely not. It was true, there was some kind of elegance in both her looks and her movements.

I can's still get her right. I'm not quite sure what…I thought of a cat, but decided that wasn't it. I sat there confused, not knowing how to carry on with the mask. Then suddenly I knew it. An owl, that would be perfect. Silent and dangerous, the deadly claws, but then again not as vicious as the hawks and eagles. It was a pretty creature, especially barn owls. I molded the mask making the outlines of the beak, the round owl-like eyes. It was good. I felt it was. I felt alive.

I didn't use red paint. For some reason, for an owl I just couldn't. A barn owl huh? Well they had those pretty white faces outlined in golden feathers. This was going to be one of the rare times I used a warm yellow instead of the red. And it looked good.

As I turned off the light in my studio that night I shot a last glance at the mask on my table. Tomorrow I would hand it in.

"good luck, fukurou,"

* * *

_fukurou:_ Japanese for "owl"

I still don't know what they make those masks out of...damn! I heard that traditional japanese masks were made of something a bit like papier-mâché but I'm not sure, I might have misunderstood...

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The world of Naruto belongs to, and is copiright of, Masashi Kishimoto, author of the manga Naruto. 


	4. the blank one

It isn't true that I like every mask I make. That can't be true, because I try to make my masks reflect the real people, very distantly, but still. And I don't like all the ANBU and hunters. Even if I do not like the future wearer of my mask, I do it right, because that is my job, and because he or she is a member of Konoha, and they deserve to be treated thus, even if personally I don't like them too much.

I don't know what type of mask I like making most, when I was younger it was the happier, warmer, caring ones. But those are the ones that hurt the most when you get them back all cracked and bloody. I don't really like making cruel masks. The ones with more slanted eyes, and sharper designs. A couple of times I made sad masks, I have made many proud masks, I have made sneering masks, and I have made angry masks. The only ones I hate doing are the blank ones. I go to observe the person like I do always. And what I see scares me because I see nothing. I see cold indifference, I don't see dreams, I don't see pain, I don't see laughter or tears, I don't see humor, I don't see devotion. I see nothing.

When I go back home to work on the mask my fear grows because more and more I feel myself going blank. When I mold the delicate form under my fingers I feel it being blank, and I am blank as well. When I am finally done with the form. And when it's finally dry I have to paint them. And there is nothing that fits here. Nothing that could be symbolic, or meaningful, or even simply pretty. I sit there for hours thinking of the design and I would like to just leave it blank. I only did once.

The ones with the blank faces are often children. I hate that as well. I wonder why their parent's let them. I wonder how it is living with such a child. They usually call them geniuses but I have doubts about that every time I see their blank faces. To me they are machines, and I do not make masks for machines I make masks for people. Machines don't have individualities that they could exchange for the masks.

There aren't that many children joining ANBU and the Hunters. And not all of them are blank. But those that are, are also the only ones who I would like to forget.

That's right, I don't want to forget dreamers who died to early to make their dreams come true, nor the proud ones who kept thinking they are the best and looked down on others. I don't want to forger the kind who should have gone lying in a warm bed with someone who loves them holding their hand. Nor do I want to forget the angry ones who were especially brutal. There is no one I want to forget and no mask I want to forget, except the blank ones. Because they are the ones who haunt me at night.

* * *

Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed! You made my day, really! (And it was the night before my mock exams too, so it REALLY made my day!) So I hope you are enjoying the writing, and here is the next piece.A drabble on family is due next...

* * *

This was a short peice, but I think it held some meaning. I got the idea while thinking of Sai from the later parts of the manga.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Naruto, and the world they live in belong to Masashi Kishimoto.


	5. the family

I began collecting the masks even before I started making them. I convinced my sensei to keep the ones that were returned to him, he wanted to burn them. Like a bad memory, he said. I didn't let him, and explained, about their wearer's individuality, about their sacrifice for Konohagakure. He understood, and he agreed to keep them. That is why I have the mask of the Yondaime. My sensei made it. I made an exact copy, and that copy is waiting.

Each of my masks are different, no two are the same. But I admit that one is a copy. An excellent copy. A perfect copy. The lion mask.

Sometimes, though it hurts, I go and look at the masks hanging in the closet. They deserve someone to come and brood for them. Their families rarely do.

When a masked shinobi dies his or her mask is brought to me. That is a tradition. But to keep them was only my tradition, and my sensei's.

If someone came to me and asked me for the maskI would give it to them right away. If a crying mother asked me for her son's mask I wouldn't think twice about giving it to her. If a younger brother demanded the mask of his sister, I wouldn't think twice about giving it back. But their families rarely come. Sometimes it is because there is no family. Sometimes it is because it would hurt too much. Sometimes it is because they are afraid. Sometimes it is because they forget.

That is another reason why I have to keep them all together in a kind of memorial. To remember them, for all those who are not there to remember the dead. For all those, who hurt too much to remember. For those, who are too afraid to remember. And for those, who forget to remember.

You might now think that I am saying that the families do not grieve for their losses. That is foolishness. Nobody in the world grieves like shinobi do, although usually they hide it under masks that are much better than any of the ones I make.

But after a masked nin dies their families rarely want to see their masks. This is not what they want to mourn for. Te reason for this is that they loathe them. They do not loathe Konohagakure because the village is likefamily. That's what the Third said. That's what the Second and First said. That is what the Fourth believed. But the ANBU and the Hunter-nins, they are only organizations, and the families of the dead loathe the organizations that made their beloved ones do horrific things, and the organization which got them killed. They loathe the masks.

There are some families who do not loathe. That is because they are proud. They grieve for their loss, but they are proud. They are the ones who sometimes come for them masks. But they do not grieve for them.

But me, I do not loathe, and I am not proud. I mourn for the masks. I mourn for the sacrifice of those who wore my masks. I mourn.

* * *

Well here is the next "chapter" I think that this is one of the last...I hope you enjoyed it. I got a bit depressed writing it, so I'd better make the next one more optimistic!

Please R&R

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The world of Naruto belongs to and is copyright of Masashi Kishimoto. 


	6. the seal

Okay, this is the last drabble at least for now. It's in a bit of a different mood, and in third person, I hope you don't mind the change and that you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

* * *

The Seal Mask

He stood there in an old dark tee-shirt, asking for Umino-san's mask. He didn't look like her, he had a rather fine-boned face, somewhat angular while Umino-san was round and soft. They had the same eyes however, deep flickering brown, and so incredibly expressive. At least they must have been once, as now they seemed to be dead. She sighed softly.

She didn't know what to say, she wasn't a good speaker and after an awkward moment she just nodded her head and started walking to the workshop. He didn't follow her right away and she felt his hesitation. She didn't say anything though, just kept on walking. She felt a bit uncertain herself, they rarely came for the masks, the families, and he was just a kid. Well actually he couldn't have been much younger than she was, two years or something, but for some reason she felt much older than him.

He followed her hesitantly through her apartment and into the old garage where she had her studio. As she led the way, by the desks into the far corner where the wardrobe stood she started having a worse and worse feeling about the whole situation. How would the kid react at the sight of his mother's mask hanging as one of many in a dark closet? She gritted her teeth, this really wasn't her problem and he asked for it so naturally she had to oblige.

Finally they stood before the wardrobe, the boy looking at her curiously. She didn't look at him and pulled the door open. She heard the tiniest gasp escape his lips. As soon as he spotted his mothers seal mask however he forgot everything else. He stared at it for a couple of seconds. Then slowly, and without even asking for permission he reached out his hand and touched mask with his fingertips. He then slowly ran his hand down the cold porcelain and then withdrew his hand abruptly when his fingers reached the ragged edges of the crushed jaw part that were beyond repair.

The boy took a step backwards and stared down at his feet. Then very gently he picked the seal mask from its hook in the cupboard. He held it in his hands and then looked up at her hopelessly. His eyes seemed more dead and empty then when she saw him at her front door.

She looked at him for a second and then said quietly,

"Come," she then started leading the way back into the apartment. He followed obediently, he thought she wanted him to leave now, but to his surprise she led him to a small kitchen. She nodded her head at the chair beside the small table and he, though still confused, sat down. He waited for her to say something but she remained quiet as she prepared hot water. He waited, he didn't have anywhere to go to anyway, and he didn't quite want to leave either, as today he just didn't feel up to faking a smile, and that's what he would have to do as soon as he left this place. So he waited patiently for his host to say something. She bustled around the kitchen, dropped a handful of tea leaves into a pot and soon the little kitchen was filled with the aroma. Then she picked out two fine, china, teacups on little saucers and put the on the table. Then she finally opened her mouth,

"Tea, Umino-san?" He glanced at her surprised, and then nodded his head.

"Iruka" he whispered a few seconds later.

"Iruka" she repeated and nodded her head. She then poured the hot tea into his cup and some for herself. They sat silently, neither saying anything, just sipping the hot drink. Iruka couldn't help pull a slight face, she made her tea bitter. After a few more moments of silence she said very quietly,

"I'm very sorry…"

"For what?"

"Your…your situation I guess…" damn, she wasn't good at talking, she could express herself only through her art, when she tried to say something meaningful it always sounded stupid and awkward.

"It's getting better, I have had help…and I think…Well, I have to move on…" she didn't reply. Instead she just stared at the mask that lay beside his cup on the kitchen table.

"It was one of the first ones I have ever made," she said finally, "at the time I was still an apprentice, see in the corner there? My hand shook and the line came out crooked so I had to make it thicker, I hated myself for it. I though the seal would fit her, and I guess it did, though I didn't know she had such a temper…" She smiled a ghost of a smile at him and, as he took another sip of the tea, Iruka suddenly felt better. He returned her smile.

"Yeah, she was the most patient person, but when that patience wore thin it was better to run for it!" he almost laughed, "Did you know her?"

"No, not really, we never met officially, but I have encountered her a couple of times, and well, I make my masks for every person individually so I have to make up my mind about them before I get to work."

It was silent again, and Iruka seemed deep in thought. After he finished his third cup he muttered,

"I think it would be better if I left the mask here. It should stay with the others, it is a good monument Jiyun-san."

"My name is Tsukiko," she said and smiled, "if you think that is better, I would be honored!"

Iruka nodded his head. They didn't say much and some time later Iruka thanked her and said he should get going. She walked him to the door.

"If you'd ever want to, you can come by," what the hell made her say that? But Iruka looked at her seriously.

"Arigato, Tsukiko-san!"

* * *

So this is it. I really hope you liked it and that it wasn't too OOC. As I said, for now I'm done, but I might come back to this later, I had fun while writing it (though I admit, sometimes it made me feel by far too nostalgic). Please leave a review if you have the time!


	7. the wolf

**AN : **_I came back to these becuase of some reflections I had the other day..._

_This is a depressive piece, and one I spent a lot of time thinking about. Kakashi is a deep, complex character though people sometimes try to omit that and only keep the "pervert" part. _

_I don't know whether my interpretation of him fits your idea and I'd love to hear about that so please leave a review and tell me of your interpretation! I hope I didn't mess him up too much. So anyway, hope you enjoy.

* * *

_

-

It is hard to say in general what makes people feel alive. However one can say that, for the most part, Shinobi feel alive on the battle field and seconds after. When they take a life and keep their own. That is when most of us feel alive. That is not a rule and I know that there are exceptions.

Every mask I made, made me feel alive. Those sleepless nights, when the masks began to shape under my hands, when I ran my fingers across their smooth surface, when I picked a brush and decorated the delicate white shell with swift and clean marks, when I knew it was good – those were the times I felt truly alive.

There was a mask however that made me feel dead, completely and utterly dead. Surprisingly it wasn't a blank one – the blank ones haunt me in the night, I fear them – but fear is a feeling of life as well. That mask made me feel dead. There was not fear, definitely no happiness, but there wasn't eve sadness. There was a nothing. A black, empty nothing that wasn't even cold.

It was a mask I had made only three years after I inherited the mask-making after my sensei. The boy was young – to young to be an ANBU but at that time I didn't think about it.

At first I thought that he was another blank one, washed out of emotion, with no dreams, desires or hopes. I thought that this was going to be another one who haunts me. And when I started asking about him it definitely seemed so. No hopes. No dreams. No nothing. But as I started following him, and even talked to him a couple of times, I started to realize that he was different.

He wasn't a machine. He wasn't blank. He was something even more scary. He was a life of others and not himself. I had hear before that his father committed seppuku. I had heard that he lost two teammates and his sensei. I had heard all that, but only after some time did I realize that they lived in him – he was so to say a vessel for the small remains of all the people he kept dear but there was no self. He himself, was dead.

When I sat in my workshop that evening I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel anything I usually did. I was about to make a mask for a man (yes a man – he was actually not much older then I was but it seemed he had been a man for a long time, and his age didn't matter) who was broken, shattered, fallen to peaces – like a broken mirror that only reflects bits and pieces of everything, and I did not feel a thing! I did not even feel sorry for him. I felt dead as well. I was supposed to make a mask for someone who doesn't exist.

His mask came out average. Completely and utterly average in every aspect. I didn't show his pain on it. It wasn't his pain – he was dead. So instead I made my only real mask, a mask that hides its wearer completely giving no insight at all to his individuality. After all, he didn't have one of his own.

---

Years later I met him again. He led a Genin team now – team 7 I think it was. I was shocked because I saw his eyes spark. I saw him tease and laugh. I saw him accepting the challenge of Kohoha's resident madman and most probably the kindest soul we had, Maito Gai.

I saw a boy who came back from the dead. I saw a man who was alive. And I hoped with all my heart that his team wouldn't take it away from him.

-

* * *

**AN:** I am having trouble writing this as I seem to be losing my muse. And running out of ideas. Some time ago however somebody suggested to me to write a piece on Gai or on Sakura (I'll probably pick one of the two) 

This gave me an idea : if any of you would be kind enough to challenge me – request a character or topic – it would be wonderful! So…please if you have any challenge for me, please send me a message and I'll see wether I come up with something.

Cheers,

AK


	8. The Lynx

**AN: **This was a piece requested by Sanji and Katsume, I hope it's ok. Sakura, and a quick glance at how Sasuke changed her.

- - -

It usually took her one look to determine whether a person would make a good ANBU. One glance at the eyes, and she could predict whether this person would stay long, or short, whether he or she would lead or follow. It was just something she could do, thanks to all this time she spent on observing people.

Iruka knew however that she sometimes made mistakes in her predictions, that sometimes her first impressions were completely wrong. And this was what happened one evening when he silently pointed out Haruno Sakura to her, while the pink haired girl was drinking tea and eating dango with a couple of friends.

The mask maker threw the girl one glance and felt that this was one of the biggest mistakes she had seen for a long time. It wasn't about skill, she had heard a lot about this girl, and didn't doubt her strength. It was something else - one look at the brightly pink hair, and huge, green, naive looking eyes, and she knew this girl wasn't made for the ANBU. There must have clearly been some mistake.

Later that evening she saw the young kunoichi, student of the Hokage herself, leave the tea house. The gentle smile suddenly disappeared from the girl's face. It was dark, and the mask maker had to squint to see the girl's features now. Sakura, smile gone, stared, with hollow eyes in the direction of the abandoned Uchiha compound, then she glanced to the starless sky.

There was no sound from her, not even a sigh, and soon she was gone.

The mask-maker didn't follow her. Suddenly she understood that she had been wrong all along, the pink hair meant nothing. And the green eyes probably used to be naive, but definitely weren't anymore. Instead of a silly, naïve, but generally sweet girl she thought she saw, the artist saw a girl who was broken and lonely.

That evening she got to work on the mask for Haruno Sakura. The design was a lynx – so maybe that didn't resemble the pink haired girl at first glance, but the lynx is an animal doomed to be alone. And loneliness was enough to make a good ANBU.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: These characters, and the world they live in belong to Masashi Kishimoto, author of the manga "Naruto" 


End file.
